


And Roses Suit You So

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-26
Updated: 2010-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little dabbling. For the prompt ‘karaoke’.</p><p>Title from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NuFIzHifuu4">'I Won't Send Roses'</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Roses Suit You So

  
Ianto shifts imperceptibly in his chair as Jack sings with abandon, somehow managing to look even more attractive than usual as he perches elegantly on the barstool surrounded by a pool of light.

_The lack of romance in my soul will turn you grey, kid._

Ianto pretends not to notice as Tosh throws a glance at him from across the table, choosing instead to keep his eyes on Jack, his expression politely attentive. He has to react when a hand squeezes his gently, and he looks away from Jack to find Gwen’s eyes on him, too. ‘He isn’t really like that, is he?’ Her eyes are huge, warm.

Ianto blinks. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You know.’ She inclines her head toward Jack. ‘Surely he’s romantic?’

‘I wouldn’t know, Gwen.’

‘But you two—’

‘We dabble,’ Ianto says firmly. ‘Occasionally. I’ve no idea how he’d be in… a relationship.’

Gwen is staring at him in disbelief when the song ends to wild applause from the patrons of the pub, and Ianto gives her hand a quick squeeze before withdrawing his own. ‘Will you excuse me? I have to make a phone call.’

  


*

He’s been home a while when he hears the knock on the door and goes to open it, his hair still shower-damp.

‘You left.’ Jack pauses at the threshold, even though Ianto has stepped back and allowed him the space to enter.

Ianto lifts a shoulder. ‘I texted you.’

He sees Jack’s gaze travel down the length of his body. It’s almost like looking in a mirror, because suddenly he can read in Jack’s eyes everything that Jack is seeing: himself, bare-chested, dark red pyjama bottoms a little too low on his hips because the elastic around the waist has become a little loose, the soft fabric covering his ankles as it falls over his bare feet.

Jack swallows. Unguarded lust flickers in his eyes for the barest hint of a moment.

‘Are you coming in?’ Ianto inquires politely.

Jack steps inside, leaving the door open behind him. Ianto brushes past him to shut the door, feeling Jack’s gaze on him. Before he can turn around, Jack’s hands are on his hips and Jack’s body is pressing him against the door. Ianto turns his face into the wood, feeling it cool against his cheek, the warmth of Jack’s hands easily reaching through the thin cloth. Jack buries his nose in the hair at the back of Ianto’s head, breathes in deeply. Nuzzles his way down to Ianto’s shoulder, presses warm lips to the damp skin.

‘Why’d you say that? To Gwen?’

‘Hmm?’ Ianto reaches back with one hand, tangling his fingers in Jack’s hair, pulling his head forward, encouraging him to nibble at Ianto’s throat. He smiles to himself as Jack takes the bait. Sometimes, it’s pitifully easy to distract Jack.

  


*

Ianto pushes his head back against Jack’s shoulder, insistent fingers in his hair, and Jack gives in. He wants this to be less than what it is. _Dabbling. Right._ Ianto wants to dabble. Jack can dabble.

Or can he?

‘Ianto, wait.’ When did they get to the sofa? Stupid, stupid words in his head, interfering. Not now, this isn’t the time, not when Ianto is doing _that_ with his mouth.

Ianto lifts his head at Jack’s words. ‘What do you want, Jack?’

He is stupid with desire. He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to talk. Doesn’t want to want Ianto more than he has to. He wants… ‘I wish you were like John.’

Ianto goes very still on top of him. The oh-fuck-what-have-I-said expression has barely begun to form on Jack’s face when Ianto rolls off him a second later, pulling up his pyjamas and turning away with a short laugh. ‘You get points for brutal honesty, I’ll give you that.’

‘Fuck, no.’ Jack scrambles off the sofa, holding up his trousers with one hand as the other reaches for Ianto. ‘Ianto, that came out all wrong.’

‘I think we can save this conversation for another time,’ Ianto says without turning around, and stalks off to the kitchen.

Jack lets him put on the kettle before grabbing his wrists and pushing him back up against the wall.

‘Hey,’ Ianto says, eyes glittering with anger. And something else that’s just out of Jack’s reach.

‘Listen to me. I don’t want this, all right? I don’t want to walk in through the damned door and see you without a shirt on and worry that you’ll catch a cold rather than want to fuck your brains out. I want to be able to push my lover to his fucking knees in front of me and do the same for him. I want—’

‘You think you can’t push me to my knees?’ Ianto says, sounding almost offended, and Jack lets out a shaky laugh.

‘I can. I have. It’s not—it’s not easy, sometimes.’

‘Let go of my hands and I’ll show you how easy it is.’ Ianto’s eyes have worked up a storm. He’s fucking _beautiful_ like this, pinned against the wall and defiant, daring Jack to _not_ treat him roughly. Jack lets go of one of his hands and cups the back of his neck and gives him the most lingering kiss that’s within his means to give. It’s a strange sort of kiss, really, with Ianto doing his best to make it more aggressive while Jack insists on holding back and keeping it gentle. He has the upper hand because he has Ianto trapped against the wall, and he cheats and uses the hand on Ianto’s nape to hold him still and dictate the pace of the kiss.

Ianto’s free hand tangles in Jack’s hair, forcing their mouths apart, pulling Jack’s head back. ‘Hurt me,’ he says. The serenity in his eyes is nothing short of a challenge. They’ve done it before, blurred pleasure and pain, driven each other to exhaustion. But not like this, not when something seems to be at stake and Jack doesn’t even know what it is.

Jack clamps a large hand over Ianto’s nose and mouth to buy himself some time. Not too much time, since he’s cutting off Ianto’s air supply, but just enough to keep him distracted and come up with a plan.

This is something he’s never had to do before. He’s sent flowers, he’s opened doors, he’s taken lovers to exotic places, seduced them, romanced them. But none of these are gestures that will work with Ianto. And neither will the other extreme. Raw, raw sex like John had craved, no space for anything else between them.

It turns out that Ianto can still be distracting, like this. He’s not breathing, he can’t, but his hand loosens its grip on Jack’s hair, caresses his scalp briefly before trailing down his spine, slipping inside his pants and grasping a handful of firm flesh.

It’s been too long, and Ianto shows no signs of relenting. Jack’s hand slips down to his throat, freeing his nose and mouth, and Ianto takes a gasping breath that Jack interrupts with a kiss. He’s regretting it already, letting Ianto play him like this, reducing what’s between them to a game that Jack isn’t strong enough to stop playing.

‘Had enough?’ he asks, and he means _Do you want to keep playing this game, or shall I continue as Jack, just Jack?_

‘Thought we were just getting started. Sir.’ It’s that last, drawn-out, teasing monosyllable that does Jack in. Ignoring the whistling of the kettle, he recaptures Ianto’s free wrist and guides his hands behind his back, making each hand cup the opposite elbow.

‘Keep them like that?’ For a moment, he’s not quite certain if Ianto will obey.

  


*

For a moment, Ianto’s not sure if he wants to obey. Jack’s following every cue and part of Ianto wants to end this game now. But there’s another part that wants to push Jack harder, see how far he’ll go.

So he grasps his elbows behind his back, lowers his gaze until he’s looking at Jack’s feet.

Jack’s hand is at his throat again, squeezing gently. ‘Look at me.’

Ianto leans forward instead, nuzzling against Jack’s throat. He laps softly at the bite mark he’d left there earlier, just before Jack had made that really, really stupid remark about Hart. Stupid, but enlightening.

Jack groans, his hand tightening at Ianto’s throat. ‘Ianto, don’t.’

‘Use me,’ Ianto says against Jack’s ear. ‘Stop thinking and just fucking _use_ me.’

  


*

‘Too much,’ Jack says, pressing his forehead to Ianto’s, leaning into him, the movement pushing Ianto back against the wall.

He wants to plead, now, for Ianto to _stop_. These, the moments that are theirs alone, are too precious to violate like this, but he doesn’t have the strength, the words, the fucking _will_ to make Ianto stop. He rests his hands on the wall, thumbs brushing the soft, soft cloth of Ianto’s pyjamas, and before he knows it, his treacherous thumbs are hooking themselves into the very compliant elastic waistband, the material sliding easily down Ianto’s hips as though it had a mind of its own.

He lets the material pool around Ianto’s ankles, lets his thumbs trace gentle circles at the creases where Ianto’s thighs meet his hips. They say nothing, their eyes shut tight, their foreheads still together as Jack’s hands move lower, and back, and grasp a little more firmly, fingertips pressing against taut skin, his own hips pushing closer until there’s no space between them.

‘Jack, wait. _Jack._ ’

He opens his eyes, stills his hands, blinks.

‘Could you please turn off the stove? The thought of the water boiling away is driving me _mad_.’

Jack shakes his head in disbelief and obeys, reluctantly letting go and walking to the stove with a murmured, ‘Don’t move.’

When he turns back, Ianto is biting his lip, hands still submissively in position behind his back, as though bound with invisible ropes. Then Jack looks up from his mouth and sees the humour dancing in his eyes, and Ianto, unable to restrain himself anymore, grins broadly. ‘You coming back over here?’

Relief floods through Jack, tension draining from his shoulders. ‘Bastard,’ he says softly, his voice just the tiniest bit shaky. ‘I ought to just leave you there.’

‘But you won’t,’ Ianto says, his smile positively angelic.


End file.
